


Punishment and Darkness

by MetalBikiniExtraLarge



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Complete, Dark Luke, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:32:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2343635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetalBikiniExtraLarge/pseuds/MetalBikiniExtraLarge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the destruction of the Death Star, Luke struggles with feelings of guilt about his actions, and seeks 'punishment'. Very dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Punishment and Darkness

**Summary:** Very dark. After the destruction of the Death Star, Luke struggles with feelings of guilt about his actions, and seeks 'punishment'. Contains slash, mature themes, torture, BDSM, incest.

**Warning:** Seriously – Luke goes looking for masochistic male/male sex, and finds it (oral and anal). In later chapters there will also be torture and BDSM, with Luke/Vader slash (i.e. incest). If those sound to you like the ingredients of an interesting story, carry on.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Wars, and no money is being made from this.

 

**Chapter 1**

Luke regarded his reflection in the mirror with a mixture of emotions. It had been a good night, and he had slept without nightmares for once, but the black eye he had got in the process would have to be treated. Ideally, he would find someone who would heal the visible injury without wanting to check him over more generally. The other injuries were... more personal, and he didn't want them healed. The continuing pain in his abdomen was a reminder that he was alive, and a payment towards his debt to those who were not.

One million, two hundred and five thousand and some. That was the estimated death toll. One bomb in the thermal exhaust port and the threat was gone. And he was a mass-murderer.

After the initial jubilation, the reality had set in. He had managed to conceal his misery at first, pretending to be glad about what he had done, accepting a medal and everyone's congratulations, playing the hero. But when no-one was nearby he allowed himself to slump dejectedly and feel every single one of the deaths over again, each spark of life winking out of existence, each unique individual never to breath again.

Han and Leia noticed of course, as did some of the other pilots. They had been in similar situations, though not on the same scale. They were full of advice, full of ways of looking at it to dull the guilt, but nothing had really helped so he plastered his 'friendly and innocent' face on every morning and it fooled most people.

In the end, Han had suggested shore leave, and Luke had headed off with a group of pilots who had plans to get drunk and chase women. Luke had sat and drunk with them in the first bar, then got deliberately 'lost' on the way to the next. With a bit of effort he got quite thoroughly lost, until he was in a very rough part of town. He picked another bar and had a few more drinks alone there before picking out someone to provide what he really wanted.

The man kept looking at him, with an expression that was part disgust and part something else entirely. This was definitely not the kind of bar where the man would try to pick him up. It was the kind of bar where that sort of preference was likely to get you beaten up or worse, with any luck. Luke acted more drunk than he was, lurching over to where the man was sitting and steadying himself against the table in front of him, then leaning in close and breathing against his face

"How 'bout it then? You and me?"

He gestured with a nod of his head towards the back door, which he knew led out into a maze of dark alleys. The man was on his feet in a second, grabbing the front of Luke's shirt and slamming him against the wall.

"Filthy little pervert! Get away from me."

Luke allowed himself to slide down the wall a little way, then lurched at him again with a drunken smile

"Mmm, you know you wanna" he murmured, sliding his hands down his sides provocatively.

That had earned him the black eye, and the attention of the few other customers. His moan of obvious pleasure at the blow earned him much more. He was grabbed and shoved out through the door and into the alley where a few more body blows had him reeling in pain while his heart raced. The pain was beautiful, blotting out at least a tiny portion of his debt, but he wanted so much more. The man lifted him up off the ground and pressed his back against the rough wall.

Luke took his chance. "Bet you've got a tiny little cock in there anyway. I wouldn't even feel it, would I?"

That got him a growl, and the man pushed in closer. Luke's eyes opened wide as he felt the solid bulge against him. He allowed himself to whimper in anticipation as the man dragged him into a side alley even darker than the one directly behind the bar and pushed him face first into another wall while he ground his hips against Luke's butt. His breath was hot and quick against Luke's neck, the erection hardening still further against him, hands tugging at his pants, knees forcing his naked thighs apart as a hand grabbed both of his wrists and doubled him over.

Then the moment of agonising bliss. He shifted his head so that he could bite down on his own arm to stifle his cries as the man rammed into him without any preparation, white hot fire blazing through his body as he was stretched and filled further than he could have imagined possible. Then a hand dug into his hip as the man started to thrust hard and fast, and he moaned. The man laughed at that.

"Not so tiny as you thought, huh?" he gloated as he fucked Luke mercilessly.

Luke made no attempt at a reply, giving himself over completely to the physical sensation, to the waves of pain that flowed through every inch of his body. It was perfect, as he had somehow known it would be. He almost passed out as the solid shaft inside him swelled still further and then pumped hot fluid into his protesting passage.

Finally it was over, the man yanking himself out and smirking at Luke's whimper of pain.

"You get the message? We don't like your kind around here. If I see you in my bar again, you can expect more of the same. Get it?"

Luke nodded silently. He got it all right, perhaps more clearly than the man did himself. As the man turned and left to go back into the bar, Luke allowed himself to smile and slid down the wall to lie on the cold hard ground, letting the pain wash away all other thoughts and sensations. He felt at peace, for the first time in ages.

He slept there all night, until in the early morning light he dragged himself to a public toilet and sorted himself out as best he could. That just left the black eye.

Half an hour in the 'office' of a healer - the small card in the doorway advertising 'discretion' in the treatment of injuries and social infections had made him a good bet - and the only visible injury was gone. Luke still looked as if he was hungover and had slept in an alleyway, but that was fine. That was not exactly an unusual look for someone who rarely got any shore leave and hadn't learnt to pace himself.

Suppressing a grin he paid the healer and made his way back to the small transport he and the others had arrived in, to find them in similar states themselves. They seemed relieved to see him, but only mildly curious about where he had been. A vague statement about getting lost, finding a bar, sleeping in an alley was accepted without any apparent surprise.

He smiled. It was a start, at least.


	2. Chapter 2

Han and Leia had been relieved at his easy smile when they saw him after his return. He had cleaned up both his body and his clothes, and got another couple of hours sleep, which had allowed his body to start the healing process. Part of him was annoyed that it would start to heal so quickly, but he hugged the memory of the intense pain even as it faded, and accepted that if he planned to keep this need a secret then his speedy healing would be a useful trait.

In the following weeks he found ways to keep the urge at bay for a while at least, with a punishing training schedule on top of extra shifts carrying out maintenance duties. Leia had frowned at his eagerness, but Han seemed to think that 'keeping busy' was a good way to get over a traumatic event and they didn't try to stop him, so long as he also spent time with them and the other pilots on one or two evenings each week.

He found it difficult to relax with them, with their pointless chatter and endless card games, but he had to at least pretend to normality even if it had never felt so far from him. Before his 'trip' there had been talk of psychiatric evaluations, of grounding him from flight duties, and he couldn't risk that. He had work to do, though he wasn't sure what it was yet, and he had to be free to fly, to take part in raids, to fight. And if that meant he had to pretend to be normal, then he would pretend with the best of them.

 

After a month or so, he was getting the fidgets again. Han noticed, and when he suggested the same 'cure', Luke jumped at the chance. He had found himself toying with the idea of getting into a fight with one of the engineers, or another pilot, even though he would only get the more 'innocent' kinds of injuries that way, but the chance to repeat his earlier trick at another bar would be much more effective, he was sure.

 

This one wanted his mouth instead of his arse, but the setting was much the same in other ways. A dark alley behind a bar, a blizzard of blows and kicks against his body, and then hands dragging him onto his knees. He had struggled against it at first, not believing that the sensations could be as strong, but then one hand had twisted in his hair and pulled his head back in a way that had him moaning with need and the other had forced a solid, glistening cock deep into his throat before digging sharp fingers into his shoulder to hold him securely as hips slammed back and forward. This time the man kept up a constant stream of insults as he thrust, calling Luke a slut, a whore, a bitch, a filthy little cocksucker. Luke whimpered and forced down the urge to gag, then swallowed everything that he was given.

This time he was at least still able to walk, and found himself a cheap boarding house for the night, where he slept a long and dreamless sleep on the stained mattress and awoke feeling at peace with himself and the universe.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had its risks of course, but Luke was good at working out which of the men in any bar would react in the way that he wanted. Sometimes they didn't, though he could tell they were aroused at the possibility, but restricted themselves to beating him senseless and leaving him there. That still felt good, but it lacked that special feeling of being treated like the filth he knew himself to be. On other occasions he had got more than he bargained for, and attracted the attention of more than one man. The feeling was incredible, as a second cock followed the first into his mouth or his arse, prolonging the sensation and adding to the utter degradation of being raped in dirty alleyways by a stranger. But twice in his arse took longer to heal, and he had to delay his return to the transport until he was able to walk without an obvious limp, and his lateness did not go without mention. He resolved to be more careful in future, however good it had felt.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Flying raids had restarted, guarding transports or disrupting Imperial activity. At first he had worried how he would feel at killing again, but it wasn't that difficult when they were shooting back at him. He thought about that one a lot, and concluded that since they had an equal chance of killing him with each shot it was fair, whereas killing over a million with one shot, when only a handful of them had any chance at retaliation, had not been. He did not add them to his total. Sometimes he tried to do impossible maths in his head. How many deaths were atoned for each time he allowed himself to be abused? And if he found some way to repeat his payment every night for the rest of his life, how many would that still leave unpaid?

 

The raid over Marmaris was not unusual at first, a quick hit-and-run that should have been over very quickly. But they had not expected the close proximity of a capital ship, or its captain's eagerness to wipe out the tiny Rebel force. One after another their ships were hit. Luke took out three of the Imperials before a glancing shot crippled his engines. If R2D2 had been on board, then maybe he would have been able to reroute the power, but Luke was accompanied by another droid while his faithful R2 assisted in other work, and his ship floated helplessly in space as he awaited the killing strike from the remaining fighters.

He tried to make peace with himself as he waited, but knew he had not come close to atoning for all those lives. His repayment would remain unfinished, with no chance to complete it.

When the blow against his ship came, he was startled. It was merely a metallic clang against the hull, then a second, then a third. Clamps and chains were being attached to his ship, holding it fast but doing no further harm. He groaned as they pulled him towards the waiting capital ship. He wasn't even to be given a clean death, but would instead be a prisoner of the Empire.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Luke was confused at first - why had they towed his ship mechanically instead of using a tractor beam if they wanted a prisoner? And why bring him in to a normal hangar bay?

As the pilots of the three other craft clambered onto his ship, dragged him out and started punching and kicking him, the realisation belatedly dawned. This was not being done on orders, but was a more personal attack on the 'filthy rebel scum', not sanctioned by those in command. He smiled inwardly, and made no attempt to defend himself. Between insults, the pilots kept up a litany of names between their blows. At last he had names, identities, for some few of the dead. He repeated them silently to himself as he fell to the floor taking kicks now rather than punches. He would die with their names in his thoughts, and the pain that the dead needed in payment blossoming through his whole body. He fought the instinctive urge to curl up and cover his head, trying instead to give them every part of himself for their revenge. Then, just as blackness was closing in on him, there were shouted orders from a distance, and the sweet agony of their kicks stopped short, leaving him with only the memory. Then hands were grabbing him, a medic being called. He fought against them, if they would just leave him his guts could bleed out in peace and the universe would be rid of him. But it was not to be. A shot of sedative to his neck stopped him from struggling. Then hands, oxygen mask, more shots to stabilise him, a stretcher, a medical facility, more sedative, and he slipped into unconsciousness knowing that it would only be a brief respite and not the oblivion he had hoped for.

 

He awoke briefly as he was pulled from a bacta tank, and lay quietly accepting the medic's examination. Then another shot in his neck and the world was dark again.

When he awoke again, he was in a cell, naked but with a standard issue jumpsuit on the bunk at his feet. Damned Imperial protocols. They couldn't allow a prisoner to be killed, he had to be healed, then questioned, and only then could he be executed. Still... Luke smiled inwardly, he would be questioned, at least. And, as a Rebel pilot it was probable that they would be very insistent in their questioning. He would tell them nothing, not even his name and rank, and they would move up to interrogation. From what he had heard, Imperial interrogators were skilled at causing agony. He could repay many more of the dead this way, before the Imps inevitably gave up and executed him.

 

The first questioner was very dull, simply sitting across a table from Luke and asking him the same things over and over. By the end of it, Luke could have screamed with boredom but not for any other reason. They even paused a number of times for Luke to be given water, and a meal, and a visit from the doctor. The following day they tried again, but he remained completely silent even when they started to threaten him with 'less pleasant' techniques. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Did they never just get on with things? Apparently not. Finally the questioner broke off to confer with an officer and then Luke was dragged down the corridor to a different room.

He looked around - this was more like it! There was a steel hawser swinging down from the centre of the ceiling above metal rings set into concrete, and the whole floor sloped gently to a drain in one corner, doubtless to allow blood and urine to be sluiced away between occupants.

He obeyed the order to strip, and allowed the guards to put his wrists into a set of binders and attach them to the cable, then put further binders around each ankle and attach those to the floor. Then they pressed a control in the wall and his arms were pulled sharply upwards until he could barely take his weight on his toes. And then they left him.

He hung there silently, allowing the pain in his shoulders to soothe him as he waited.

It might have been half an hour, it might have been two hours, it was hard to judge time. But finally the door opened and the interrogator arrived. His technique was brutal rather than skilled. Frankly the open anger of the pilots had affected Luke more than the efforts of the interrogator. It was simply a beating, interspersed with questions. He got no impression that the man even enjoyed his job, he seemed to treat the whole business as a necessary chore, and it was no surprise to Luke when he was let down after a few hours and returned to his cell.

The next day was simply a repeat, as was the third. On the fourth day, a guard came for Luke and he looked up with a dull expression. Boredom and simple pain were not enough. But the guard brought good news, though he didn't appear to realise it. "I hope you haven't got too comfortable here, because we're at Coruscant now. The specialists are going to get their turn at you. You'll sing for them, I'm sure!"


	4. Chapter 4

The transfer was uneventful, though he managed to 'persuade' the guards to give him a few punches to the gut as a farewell present. But his heart hadn't really been in it, he was looking forward to meeting some genuine interrogators for a change.

He had decided on a different strategy for these ones. Silence had not provoked any reaction, presumably they were used to silent Rebel prisoners. This time around he planned to give them his name and rank, and to tell them from the start that he had been the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, and to appear to gloat over the deaths he had caused. That ought to get him their full attention.

Unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite effect. After the first session, he was simply locked in his cell and ignored apart from meals, which were delivered and cleared in silence. He sat on the bunk and hugged his knees - they must have decided to simply execute him without any further questioning. After all what else could they need to know before deciding his fate?

But the following day he was taken through to an interrogation room and strung up again. This time when the interrogator arrived, Luke was sure he had got the attention of an expert. A droid hovered behind him, cutting into flesh, injecting drugs to keep him alert, administering electric shocks, as the interrogator asked his questions.

At first Luke answered every question the same - name, rank, 'Death Star'. But, oddly, every answer was punished, whether or not it was true. He grew confused. What did they want him to say? The interrogator was looking at him intently now, seemingly fascinated by his reactions. Luke blushed, if the interrogator knew he wanted to be hurt, what would he do?

The answer became clear very quickly, as the interrogator took a syringe from the table and injected it into Luke's arm. A numbness spread through his system. The droid continued to cut after each answer, but Luke felt no pain, only the strange slicing sensation. Blood was running off him now, but there was no thrill of pain. He dropped his head and wept.

The interrogator watched him for a minute or two, then lifted his head up with a tug to the hair and spoke. "My orders for you are unusual but very clear. You may remember that you are a Rebel, you may remember that you destroyed the Death Star, but by the time you leave me, you will answer only to 'prisoner'. Any name you think you have will be gone. I will do whatever is necessary to achieve this end, no matter how you have been trained to withstand interrogation techniques. Do you understand?"

Luke nodded. He understood.

 

At first he had fought it, had repeated his name silently in his head at every opportunity. But soon there was a confusing mess of drugs in his system, sessions of pain, sessions where he watched his body being beaten and broken without any pain, sessions in a bacta tank between to heal him, bright lights on him for many hours without a break, cold water deluging him from above, or into which his head was forced until he thought he would drown. And all the time, questions. If he responded when spoken to by name, he was punished. If he responded to 'prisoner' then he was not. The questions were usually meaningless, the point only being to see if he still responded automatically to a name. And now, he could not even remember what name he was not permitted to respond to. The questions came with many names now, and he responded to none of them. He was 'prisoner', and that was all.

 

During this last session he had felt oddly as though he was being watched, though he could not have said why. But when they were finished, the door opened and a small figure entered, leaning heavily on a cane. He was confused to recognise the Emperor. Was he to be executed now? There was a strange feeling inside his head - that feeling of being watched again, but more intense, then the Emperor laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

The wizened figure turned to the interrogator and said "You are to be congratulated, you have done an excellent job. And you shall have your reward." The interrogator smiled, then his expression froze as the Emperor made a small gesture. His body crumpled to the floor like a puppet with the strings cut, and the prisoner had no doubt that the man was dead. He awaited his own demise, which he was sure would follow, but the Emperor instead said "Follow me" and left the room with his prisoner trailing meekly behind.

They went through corridors and elevators, meeting no-one. He could perhaps have tried to escape, but the ease with which the Emperor had killed a man made that seem a foolish idea, so he simply followed, finally passing through a more sumptuous corridor and out into the throne room. His eyes opened wide at the sheer scale and opulence of the room, but the Emperor seemed not even to notice. He followed all the way to the foot of the dais on which the throne stood, then knelt obediently below the bottom step when ordered to. He remained there, unmoving and with eyes cast down as people came and went, as conversations were held, as orders were given. He wondered what they thought of him, in his stained prison jumpsuit and close-cropped hair, with half-healed cuts across his face, neck and hands. No-one asked, and no explanation was provided.

Finally, there was a buzz amongst the many officials and courtiers who were standing around, and he risked looking up for a fraction of a second towards the door, only to drop his eyes back down as quickly as possible while his heart missed a beat. Darth Vader!

The Sith Lord strode directly across to the throne, and dropped to one knee in front of it, ignoring the small form also kneeling there as though it was invisible.

"Arise, Lord Vader. I am glad that you could return to Coruscant so soon, as I have a treat for you. I know how much you were angered by the loss of men when the weapons platform was destroyed by a cowardly act of terrorism. I wonder if you can guess what I have for you here?"

Vader had stood and was glaring down at the kneeling figure from his great height.

"Yes indeed, this disgusting little scrap of filth is the so-called Rebel who killed so many of our finest. As you can see, his chastisement has already begun, but I think in the circumstances you should have the honour of personally ensuring that he pays for his crimes. My only stipulation is that you curb your very natural desire to kill him outright here and now, and ensure that he has ample opportunity to regret his choices."

"I will do so, your majesty. I assure you that he will pay, most thoroughly."

The prisoner's thoughts were jumbled and confused. He hated and feared Vader. But if anyone could punish him properly, then it was surely the Dark Lord of the Sith.


	5. Chapter 5

He had thought that he would be transferred back to the prison, but instead he was surrounded by Vader's guards and escorted through the Palace complex to an imposing entrance, then through an interconnecting suite of rooms before reaching a group of rooms with hard floors and walls, and impressive locks. He swallowed hard in anticipation, it had somehow never occurred to him that Lord Vader would have his own personal cells and interrogation room in his quarters, but it made a sick kind of sense for a busy man.

He stood meekly in the hallway outside the rooms, wondering what to expect, then inwardly rejoiced as Vader's hand flashed out and caught him across one side of his face, throwing him across the room. He stood awkwardly and moved back to his previous position to accept another blow, then another and another, each time picking himself up off the floor and returning to face the tall dark figure again.

After seven or eight blows he could no longer stand, but still crawled back to position himself at Vader's feet. No more blows fell. He wondered why there were no kicks either, it would have been easy from there. But instead, Vader gave a curt order and turned on his heel, and the guards dragged the bloody form into a cell and left him on the floor.

He sighed and curled up to sleep. At least Vader seemed to favour the personal approach - hopefully he would continue to administer the punishment himself and not entrust it to an impersonal droid. Perhaps the guards would also give their assistance? He still had hopes of finding one or more who would give him the truly personal kind of punishment that he found the most effective, though he had met with no success so far. It seemed the guards had strict rules about abusing prisoners sexually, whatever else they might be encouraged to do.

Vader returned the next morning. His prisoner had been hopeful that he might, since the guards had ordered him to strip and then secured his wrists and ankles to a metal frame in the centre of another room in the suite. His wrists and ankles ached, as did the injuries from the previous day though they had already started to heal.

Vader stood and looked at him for long moments from the doorway, before picking up an ugly-looking hooked knife from the table and advancing towards him. The first cut was long and slow, and he screamed as it was made. Vader certainly had the knack of causing pain. Several more cuts followed, each accompanied by screams and sobs. It was wonderful, to feel the closeness of another body along with the sharpness of each fresh cut and the duller aches of those before it. Six, seven, eight cuts, before Vader turned away and put the knife back on the table, then with an almost lazy gesture of his hand, the binders fell away and the prisoner dropped down to the floor. He lifted his head a little and murmured "Thank you", then noticed spots of blood on Vader's otherwise perfectly black boots. He shifted position and leaned forward, flicking his tongue over the dark leather to clean them. Vader stood unmoving and silent throughout.

When he was back in his cell, the guards brought a doctor to examine him and try to dress his wounds, but he fought against the treatment, his convulsive struggles knocking the syringe out of the doctor's hand to break on the hard floor. He could not bear the thought of these delicious cuts being dulled by a painkiller or a sedative. The doctor gave up after that, muttered something about ingratitude, and left.

When Vader returned later that day, the guards were very quick to explain why his wounds had not been treated, and why he had fresh bruising. The prisoner was interested to learn that the guards had strict instructions not to injure him unless specifically to prevent an escape. He felt a warm glow. It seemed that he was Vader's alone to hurt, to punish. He trembled at the thought. His sleep that night was not dreamless, but the confused jumble of blackness and pain was oddly comforting.

They fell into a pattern over the next few days, with Vader trying out different instruments of torture on him each morning, then permitting his prisoner to lick his boots and thank him before he was returned to the cell. The doctor would examine him, but no longer tried to give any treatment unless a wound was too serious. Even then he would bandage or stitch it without pain relief, since the prisoner insisted on breaking every syringe that was brought close to him. And every night he had strange dreams. Some were blatant, with Vader fucking him hard and fast as he screamed and sobbed in blissful agony. Some were slightly less so, though the imagery of a huge black snake splitting him open from both ends at once didn't take much interpretation. And others were just bizarre, with blackness filling and surrounding him, or flames licking over his whole body as he lay unable to move. But oddly none of them felt like nightmares, however painful the imagery might appear, and he awoke each morning feeling refreshed and looking forward to his time with Vader.

He could sense nothing of what Vader felt about it, which was strange. He had long been accustomed to getting a sense about people's thoughts and feelings, but presumably the mask was stopping him from picking up the usual clues from fleeting expressions. Each day Vader found new ways to give him pain, leaving him trembling and sobbing in gratitude. He felt so... so punished. The quick bright pain of a knife, the more localised but deeper pain of a sharp probe, the bone-aching pain of electricity arcing through him, the flick of a long whip wrapping lovingly around his body. Each perfect in its own way, each taking payment for the departed. Vader had known them, he was sure of that, he avenged their loss so personally, so intimately. He had the right to take payment. And, even more than that, he allowed his prisoner to show just how low and filthy he was, crawling at his feet, licking his boots. He would do far more if he thought Vader would accept it. It was just difficult to know whether Vader's thoughts ran in that direction. The men he had picked out in bars had all looked at him in a way he had learned to recognise even before puberty, though whether it was an actual expression or something more complex he had never been quite sure. But in any event, he had recognised their interest in his body, known that they might respond if he offered them an excuse to 'rape' him. But Vader showed no signs, either in favour or against.

And none of the guards, here or before, would even let themselves think about the possibility. It seemed that if he wanted Vader to step up his punishment to the next level then he would have to make the first move. He pondered. Vader deserved something special, something he had given none of the others when he pushed them into taking him. If he was right that Vader could sense his thoughts, then the significance of the act ought to be clear.


	6. Chapter 6

It was the whip again this morning, flicking in neat parallel lines across his shoulders and back as he moaned and writhed in the restraints, then carrying on down over buttocks and thighs, each line carefully placed an inch below the last.

He fell flat on the floor when the restraints were unfastened, then wriggled up onto his knees closer to Vader's feet than usual. He was sure he felt a wave of surprise as he slid his right hand down over his chest and belly and gripped his limp cock, then began to work it steadily. He had denied the others this, not allowing himself to come as they fucked him, even when his body responded with the familiar need. He hadn't even jerked himself off afterwards, in the alleyways and parks and public toilets where he often spent the remainder of the night. They had not deserved it, they hadn't even known that they were punishing him. But Vader knew. Vader cut and whipped him for the dead, and deserved the final submission of his body, the ultimate abasement. He would give himself utterly to Vader, whether or not Vader ever deigned to take him. He gripped more tightly and opened his mind and body completely, spilling out onto Vader's boots with a cry and feeling a dark pleasure swirling through him, unlike anything he could remember feeling outside of his dreams. Then he shifted position and lapped up the spots and trickles from the polished leather until they were perfectly clean again.

Finally he rose on his knees until his face was level with the solid black codpiece of Vader's armour. It seemed the right position, though he kept his eyes cast down.

"Thank you for punishing me. I only wish that you would punish me more, I know how much I deserve it. If you ever think me worthy of more, then I am yours to treat as you wish."

And with that he opened his thoughts and memories, running through the punishments he had sought out for himself. The darkness swirled again, filling him with a sense of... of need? Of urgency? A thrill ran through him at the prospect. Then the moment was gone, and the back of a gloved hand smacked him hard across the face, knocking him to the ground.

"Filthy"

Another smack.

"Perverted"

Another. Somehow he was lifted back up each time to meet the next blow.

"Disgusting".

He was lifted clear of the ground and smashed into the wall of the room, a hand around his throat, choking him. He felt blackness closing in on him, not the swirling seductive kind this time, but simply the lack of oxygen making itself felt.

Just as he thought he was surely going to die, the grip was loosened and he was picked up and thrown down onto his knees with a hand around the back of his neck. Then, he wasn't sure how, Vader's armour was no longer between them and he was pulled in tight against a bulging groin. Another movement and the thick fabric was gone, leaving his face against hot skin and wiry curls. He opened his mouth without further thought and allowed the whole length to fill his mouth and throat, wrapping his lips and tongue around it and sucking greedily as the hand behind his head forced him onto it in quick hard thrusts. The sense of release as he gulped down hot thick fluid was incredible, beyond anything he had ever experienced, then he was thrown back across the room and Vader turned away. When he turned back Vader was fully dressed again, and emanating waves of pure anger.

"Did Palpatine train you for this? To whore for him?"

He shook his head, uncomprehending, then was hit with a wave of energy, ripping into his thoughts and memories, forcing him to relive the past few weeks.

"Who are you?" Vader demanded.

He shook his head. "Prisoner" he whispered. "Rebel. Murderer. I killed them. I should be punished. I need to be punished"

"You wouldn't be the first he'd deprived of a name"

Vader seemed to be thinking out loud.

"And your memory seems true enough about the Death Star. His guards didn't train you to behave like this?"

He shook his head again, almost in tears now. "No" he replied quietly. "They wouldn't even touch me, though I wished they would. It's the only punishment that truly worked, before." He trembled. "I think it would work even better from you - you deserve to punish me. The others didn't."

Vader laughed mirthlessly. "The Empire has rules about what I can do to a prisoner. And I just broke them for a filthy little slut who just wants me to punish him harder than I already am."

"What if the prisoner wants you to? What if he begs you?”

"You disgust me"

"I disgust myself" He smiled. "That's what makes it a punishment"

"I would have to get rid of the guards. And the doctor. And they would think I intend to kill you, slowly and painfully, that's the only reason I have sent them away before."

He brightened at the words. Vader was talking himself into this, he was sure.


	7. Chapter 7

It was several days before the guards vanished. He had seen strange pitying looks in their eyes the evening before, but assumed it was only because of his injuries. Vader had been merciless since their conversation, treating him to his 'attention' twice or three times some days but not permitting him to lick his boots or do anything else to show his sense of worthlessness. But now he was alone in his cell. No food had been brought. No guard had checked on him. Vader hadn't been there either though, which was disappointing. He brightened - perhaps Vader had to clear his schedule first, before he could give his prisoner his undivided attention.

 

Palpatine smiled at the latest report. His contrary apprentice had finally given up his pathetic attempts at self-control and was planning to indulge his urges fully. He wondered idly if Vader even realised that the years of completely repressing his sexual desires were the cause of his uncontrollable rages and fits of sadistic violence. Not that it mattered. So long as Vader gave in to the calling of the Dark Side, it did not make any difference whether the hunger and fulfilment came from sex or from torture.

But it was good that he was reaching the end of this particular game. The younger Skywalker had no memories that he could access of his own name or that of his father, but there was always a risk that Vader might start to ask questions about a Force-sensitive prisoner and start to wonder about his background. Palpatine smiled again. According to his sources, Vader didn't bother asking his young prisoner any questions anyway, just ripped his flesh and enjoyed his screams. And he had made no comments about the boy's Force sensitivity, though surely he must have realised the strength of the responses he felt through the Dark Side.

No, Vader had no suspicion of just who he was about to torture to death.

 

It was almost evening before Vader returned, and his prisoner's heart leapt at the fact that it was Vader himself who opened the cell door and escorted him through to the interrogation room. They were truly alone together then. He lifted his arms obediently and spread his feet out wide, and felt a thrill of pleasure as the binders fastened around wrists and ankles in response to a gesture from Vader, holding him spread-eagled on the frame.

Vader circled him then, and he could feel heat emanating off the tall armoured body, and blackness swirling around and through him. His cock twitched in reaction to the sensations then rose gradually, and his balls began to ache in desperate need. If Vader deigned to even touch him, he was sure he would come at once.

Vader was back behind him then, and he felt an odd tightness inside. When thick leather gloves slid down his back and over his hips he moaned out loud, but despite his intense need the expected release did not occur. Instead his arousal increased still further as he was touched almost gently. He pressed his buttocks back expecting to feel the cold hard surface of the codpiece but was startled to feel flesh, a solid erection rubbing between his spread thighs. He moaned "Please. Please take me. I am yours." and tried to open his mind to Vader's presence. He was sure that was the source of the swirling blackness he could feel - though he had little idea how to connect with it, he was sure it had something to do with the elusive Force that old Ben had started trying to explain to him. It had made no sense, and he had struggled to get any feeling of it since the old man's death. But it was here in Vader, he was sure of that. Ben had talked about the 'Dark' Side, and this felt dark. Warm and dark and comforting. He wanted it.

Vader's hands were on his thighs now, pulling them up and apart, taking up the slack on the chains around his ankles until they were pulled tight. And then... he screamed in pleasure as the huge erection was forced into him deeper and deeper. Once it was fully inside he tried to open himself wider to accommodate it and at the same time opened his mind to the pressure that was pushing against it. Something gave way in both at once. Muscles eased around hardened flesh, while every thought and sensation was opened to view.

He moaned and pushed back, wrapping the binder chains around his wrists to give him some purchase and trying to thrust onto Vader, but unable to move his weight in a way that would allow it. He whimpered in need. This was slow torture. Perhaps that was the point? Was Vader only doing this to cause him terrible frustration? Would he pull out and laugh, leaving him chained up and unable to even jerk off to relieve the urgent desire?

A hand was sliding up his body now, up his belly, his chest, his neck. As the fingers slid up over his chin he opened his mouth wide and claimed two of them, pulling them in deep and then bobbing his head up and down on them, sucking hard. He felt the thrill that went through Vader at the sensation, he was sure of it. The other hand shifted, grabbing his hip and lifting him almost off before slamming him back down onto the unmoving cock, then again and again. He moaned around the fingers, arched his back, and opened his mind to the darkness that pushed into it.

The whole of existence was this - being filled by Vader, taken, possessed. His body had never felt so full, and yet the sting of pain at his entrance was drowned out by the pleasure of being fucked. He was gasping at each thrust now, no longer able to concentrate on the fingers in his mouth and hardly noticing as they were withdrawn until they slid down to grasp his aching cock and work it. He was driving into the hand, but also... sensations whirling around uncontrollably... also slamming into a hot tight arse. Hands gripping chains - hands around a muscular thigh and a thrusting erection. Feet firmly on the ground, legs braced - feet pulling hard against chains, naked soles rubbing against rough fabric. Filling, being filled, taking, being taken. Building, building, building to a crescendo that was unstoppable, screaming out in ecstasy as he climaxed into a clenching passage and a gripping leather hand, then moaning, gasping, panting in a tangle of flesh and mind without beginning and without end.

He hung there, still impaled, fighting for breath, a sudden feeling of claustrophobia hitting him as his straining lungs could not supply oxygen quickly enough, enclosed in blackness that was neither warm nor welcoming. Then the sensation faded. His lungs were working fine, pulling in air to replenish him. Vader's respirator behind his head was working faster than usual, that must be what had prompted the odd feeling. Now... now he relaxed in the restraints. He felt... owned. He had never really felt as though he belonged to anyone before, family, friends, comrades. Oh, there had been a sense of fellow-feeling, of working for the same thing, of being part of an organisation. But never truly belonging to a single person, the security of being possessed by another so deeply that you were a part of each other. And now... he could still feel Vader inside him. Not just the solid cock wedged so deep in his arse that he could weep with joy at it, but all through him. He reached out with a thought, and brushed against Vader's mind, caressing him, trying to express happiness and submission and a million other things, and knowing he was heard.

Then, without warning, his body was empty and his mind was invaded still more deeply. _'Who are you? What are you?'_ the question resonated through his thoughts and memories. Images surfaced. Leia, Han, other rebels, talking to him, asking him questions. His sense of identity was questioned over and over. Labels popped onto the surface of his thoughts, but no name. Rebel. Pilot. Commander. Kid. Murderer. Then older memories - Ben talking to him, teaching him about the Force. A jolt of recognition at that one, deeper questioning, but there was no sound of a name, just a blank where the memory of it should be. Then back further, Tatooine, family, school, friends, still nothing. Then focussing on Tatooine, on the house, on Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru - he had names for them, that was something at least. Lars. Owen and Beru Lars. Then digging their graves, with Ben. Making the hole, making a marker, looking across to the low mound beside them. Cliegg Lars. A crotchety old man in a wheelchair, seen from a very low height and then gone. He must have been very young then. Then along to the final marker, the oldest mound behind the house. Shmi Skywalker.

'Mother'

He frowned, unsure where that thought had come from. It was wrong. 'Grandmother' he corrected it. No image, he was sure he had only heard tales of her, they had never met. His father's mother, dead before his birth. Just an old grave and memories passed on.

Then pressure again, intense unstoppable pressure, ripping open barriers, tearing into every corner of his mind, forcing its way past walls he didn't even know were there.

'Luke Skywalker, will you stop daydreaming!' - his first school teacher, usually sympathetic but occasionally irritated when he had to be called over and over by name to pull him back to reality. 'Time to get up Luke' - Aunt Beru, nearly every morning, smiling but insistent. 'It was your father's, Luke, he wanted you to have it' - Ben giving him Anakin's light saber.

A jolt, disorientating and sickening, then anger and loss and possessiveness. He belonged to Vader, had been stolen, he was sure of it now. The Emperor had stolen his identity, his name, and somehow taken him from his rightful owner in the process, from Vader. But... that made no sense. He had been a Rebel, Vader was his enemy. How could those both be true. Nothing made sense any more. Luke was dangling, cold and empty, from a metal frame, Vader pulling free of his mind as he had already done from his body. He reached out desperately, clinging to the presence as it slid away. It stopped short, still within his mind, asking a question he couldn't understand. He wrapped his thoughts around it, holding it close. Then... oh bliss, a sense of acceptance, and of ownership, and then tendrils of thought reaching out all through him, touching, stroking, attaching themselves to him, entwining with his own thoughts and feelings, then as Vader's mind slid away again, the clear sense of a bond, pulling taut between them before relaxing. He gripped it then, and felt the answering pull, then allowed himself to relax with a sigh. Whatever else had happened, Vader had claimed him for his own, and left an enduring connection as a promise.

The restraints opened with a click, and he was lowered gently to the floor to rub his aching limbs and joints. Then Vader spoke for the first time "You need a shower and then clothes. Through here." and led him through to the guards room. Luke was gestured into the shower where he cleaned himself up quickly and efficiently. Rebel facilities did not allow for long showers so he had perfected the knack of getting everything freshened up with a minimum of fuss. Then a quick dry and Vader had found clothes for him, a guard's uniform complete with boots. Of course, looking after Vader's prisoners must have had its messy aspects, so it was hardly surprising their room had a supply of fresh clothing to replace any spoiled with blood, urine, or vomit.

He dressed quickly, unsure what Vader was planning but in no doubt that he would play his part in it without hesitation. He was Vader's now, in body, mind and soul. He felt the darkness within him swirl greedily at that. Vader belonged to the Dark Side, and he belonged to Vader. The implication was clear. A black leather-clad hand stretched out to him and rested against his cheek. He pressed against it eagerly, sending a caress through their link, and feeling an affectionate and possessive response. Then Vader's thoughts were clearly spoken in his head.

_'The Emperor tried to take you from me, so that I would not know who you were. But now I know you, and you are mine. What shall we do to the Emperor?'_

_'Kill him!_ ' Luke's thought was quick and eager, needing no prompting.

He felt pride and pleasure, and agreement, in response.

_'Can you feel me clearly through this link? Good, if I show you what to do, will you obey me, at once and without question?'_

_‘Yes! I'm yours to command. Just show me what you want and I will do it.'_

_'Then let us go visit the Emperor'_


	8. Chapter 8

Palpatine was alone in the Throne Room, sprawled on his throne, enjoying the lingering sensations that had rippled through the Force from his apprentice. He had learned long ago not to spy too closely on Vader at these times - such acts pulled his apprentice more deeply into the Dark Side and strengthened him, which was good for Sidious in the long term but could be risky in the short term. A strengthened apprentice might get ideas about overpowering his master, so it was best not to share their link and open himself to Vader's anger. Vader was also very... private... about his time with prisoners like this. Palpatine smiled.

Really, the man was no more adult now than he had been as a Jedi, embarrassed and uncomfortable about his physical urges. When sadism had completely replaced sex as his most intimate form of connection with others, his need for privacy had transferred with it. It wasn't just practical considerations that had him banishing his guards from his quarters, he wanted to be alone and undisturbed with his partner as he sought the release that a soft yielding body could give him. And, from the ripples Palpatine had felt through the Force, this particular prisoner was providing intense levels of pleasure, hardly surprising in the circumstances. The Dark Side would be rejoicing at Vader's torture of any Force sensitive, but the delicious taboo of killing his own son would lead to waves even more orgasmic than those he had already felt, impossible though that might seem.

Palpatine stroked himself idly, wondering whether to call for one of the concubines. Perhaps he would wait until the boy was actually dead, then make a night of it with some of the newest additions to his stable. He smiled. Yes, after the feel of one child being broken and betrayed, that would be a fitting end to the day. He doubted Vader would delay much longer, he was doubtless just pausing for breath before continuing with whichever of his collection of knives and whips he had decided to favour this evening.

Palpatine's hand moved more deliberately now, reliving the sensation which had echoed through him, savouring the memory of pleasure and pain.

 

Vader and Luke made their way silently through the private corridors and elevators that linked the outer reaches of Vader's apartments to an ante-chamber near the Throne Room. It was a useful route which allowed Vader and Palpatine to move through the Palace unseen, whether separately or together, though they seldom used it now. Most of their plans could be achieved openly, now that Palpatine's position as Emperor and Vader's as Commander in Chief were unassailable.

They paused as they came to one particular corridor, Vader raising a hand to signal Luke to stop. They were right through from the Throne Room now, from what Vader had told him earlier. They would not speak or even think their plans to one another now, and Vader had done something to cloak Luke's thoughts and feelings from the Emperor until the time was right. It was a strange plan, and not one that Luke could ever have thought of, but Vader was confident that he could cause Palpatine's death in a way that would go unquestioned, and therefore claim the Throne for himself. Luke shared his feeling of satisfaction at the prospect - any thrill they might have had from confronting Palpatine openly would be more than compensated by knowing they had defeated him so utterly that no-one would ever know what had happened.

Luke prepared his thoughts to reflect what they had planned, and nodded to Vader. A small gesture and a slow feeling of released tension, and Luke's thoughts were being broadcast again.

 

Palpatine grinned in expectation as he felt pain and humiliation ripple off the young prisoner. Vader was being incredibly thorough with this one, he could feel cuts, bruises, whip marks. And now something deep and sharp, sliding into flesh, penetrating it in a slow repeating rhythm. His breath hitched. Did Vader truly not understand what he was doing? The boy was moaning now, begging for mercy, but the probe kept up its slow deliberate movement.

Perhaps he should allow himself one little appetiser before this evening's feast? It seemed as if his apprentice planned to toy with the boy for a while longer at least, he was clearly in no hurry to finish this off. But Palpatine would be driven mad if he had to sit this out for much longer without a release. He hit a comms button and gave an order. Something quick and easy this time.


	9. Chapter 9

They paused in silence - what they were waiting for Luke wasn't sure, but after ten minutes or so Vader nodded. Luke readied himself again and nodded back. This time it would be more intense, and he would let it build until Vader told him to stop.

Palpatine groaned. The young woman straddling him was skilful, bringing him close and then teasingly keeping him there. And all the time, through the Force, he felt young Skywalker sobbing and screaming as he was cut over and over again. He opened his mind wide to savour the sensation. Vader's anger and urgent desire were blazing out now, there was no need for Palpatine to protect himself at this stage, all his apprentice's attention was on the beautiful pale skin beneath him and his hard fast thrusts. The fact that it was an arm and a knife thrusting into muscle was irrelevant. It was reaching a crescendo now, as was Palpatine himself, grabbing the concubine tightly and burying himself yet deeper in her, gasping for breath, opening his mind to its fullest extent to enjoy the young Skywalker's final moments.

Then it faded - so close and yet out of reach. He grasped for the sensation, needing to feel the surge in the Force as one Skywalker murdered another in anger and hatred and need. Desperately he opened himself out further and still further into the Force as his body pounded against tight flesh. There! Vader was right there, burning with dark desire.

Palpatine screamed as he came, then again as Vader grabbed hold of his mind and ripped it open, tearing wildly into him. He convulsed as nerves were stimulated and torn apart, trying to fight against it but unable to recover enough focus. His last thought was a recognition of betrayal as he felt Vader's laughter, even as the nerve centre that controlled his breathing and heart was destroyed.

 

The young woman's screams were clearly audible from the hidden corridor, as her shock and disbelief at the Emperor's dying convulsions overwhelmed her. Vader and Luke left as silently as they had arrived, though they retreated only half way back to his quarters, then emerged into an empty corridor. From there, Vader strode back openly towards the Throne Room with Luke having to walk very briskly to keep up. He could feel Vader's thoughts. Luke was to stay in character as a guard who had been receiving orders when Vader felt a disturbance in the Force and set off to investigate. They were almost outside the Throne Room by the time they were met by a group of Palace Guards who had been dispatched to find them.

"Lord Vader. There has been an incident in the Throne Room. The Emperor's physicians have been called and are in attendance"

They entered the Throne Room to see a crowd of doctors around the contorted corpse of the Emperor. A scantily-clad young woman was huddled in a corner of the room, with guards all around her.

Vader marched immediately to the group around the body and watched impassively as they examined it.

Finally one of them stood and bowed his head to Vader, saying "My Lord. I regret to inform you that Emperor Palpatine is dead. Our initial findings suggest that the cause of death was a massive stroke caused by..." his eyes flicked to the young woman and back again "...over-exertion. However we cannot rule out other causes such as poison. I should like your permission to carry out a full examination and all appropriate tests."

"Does the concubine's story match with what you have seen of the body?"

"Yes my Lord"

"She must be questioned properly, of course. And a full autopsy carried out. If anyone is responsible for this death then they will answer to me... personally"

His tone promised long and intense pain to anyone found to have been involved. The body was escorted to the medical facility with a full honour guard made up of both Palace Guards and Vader's own men.

And then Vader and the Palace officials, bureaucrats, military leaders and, it seemed to Luke, almost everyone within a several mile radius, talked politics until the early hours. Luke sat quietly in a corner of the room, disregarded by everyone except Vader himself who flicked an occasional thought over him and encouraged him to pay attention to some at least of the conversations. He tried but did not follow much of what was said.

Finally though, a conclusion seemed to have been reached, helped by reports from the doctors and those questioning the girl, and the remaining officials bowed deeply and called Vader 'Your Majesty' as they backed out of the room. That at least seemed clear enough, and a sense of deep satisfaction washed through Luke from their link, together with a sense that Luke should feel similarly satisfied. He was, in a general way at least. Vader was to be Emperor. He belonged to the Emperor. Palpatine, who had robbed him of his identity and stolen him from Vader in some way he still did not understand, was dead and gone, and with no blame attached to himself or Vader. He was happy and relieved, but slightly confused about Vader's line of thought, since Luke would have no tangible benefit from the change.

He followed Vader back to his quarters, trying to stifle his yawns and his hunger.

 

Vader regarded him for a long time when they were back in the outer hallway of his quarters, and Luke could feel a gentle touch going through his thoughts and memories with a sense of curiosity and occasionally anger. The anger was usually at Ben, Luke recognised with some confusion.

Finally Vader seemed to have finished, and said rather brusquely "You are hungry and tired. You will need to inform me if I do not provide you with what you need at suitable intervals. I have little need for sleep and this suit takes care of nourishment. Come."

And with that he led Luke through into a pleasant sitting room and showed him where he could order a plate of food. Luke had not realised quite how ravenous he was until he smelt the food. Luckily he was not prone to suffering from indigestion and would not have any ill effects from the speed at which he emptied the plate.

Once it was gone, Vader led him through to a large and opulent bedroom and gestured to the huge bed.

Luke felt a curious mix of emotions, physical desire warring with intense tiredness. He wanted Vader to fuck him again, and the prospect of it happening in a luxurious bed was a thrill, but he feared he would get little of either enjoyment or true punishment out of it in his current state.

He sensed discomfort, even embarrassment, from Vader through their link, but Vader would not respond to his attempts to query him further.

"You should sleep now. We will talk when you are properly awake. I will remain here and meditate." And with that he sat in a large armchair in the corner of the room.

Luke was confused but exhausted, and decided not to try to understand any more for now. He curled up on top of the covers and allowed himself to drift into a deep sleep.

 

He awoke with a start several hours later, and looked around in confusion. It was disorienting to find himself in a proper bed for a change instead of a cell bunk. But when he saw Vader, sitting silently, apparently watching him, he calmed at once. That much had not changed. Even though he knew his name and history now, he still belonged to Vader, his prisoner to treat however he wished. Would he continue to cut and whip him? He still wanted to be used and dominated, punished for all the deaths he had caused. But perhaps Vader would do it in other ways, would find other ways of making him feel complete again? If that was through sex... Luke's cock responded to the thought. Luke would very much like to show Vader how completely he belonged to him now. Was he still meditating?

Vader gently touched his mind through their link, but distanced himself when Luke blatantly offered his body. Luke blushed. Maybe Vader didn't want him in that way, maybe that once was all he had ever wanted and it was over. Would he finish it as his guards had assumed he would? Luke could die happy under that whip, or a knife, giving Vader his death instead of his life.

"You should not be so quick to seek death, from me or another. If what you truly seek is meaning, then I can show you where to find it. Oblivion provides little in comparison."

"I would rather give you my life. But... I'm not sure that you want it. I... this is all I have" he gestured to his body. "If you don't want it then I would sooner die than live without you."

"You will never have to do that, child. Our lives are linked now, as they should have been long ago. The only question that remains is just what I shall be to you. You have great potential in the Force, and if you seek true power then I will teach you to use it. You could be my apprentice, and in time a Sith Lord yourself. Your body... I will not lie to you, though if you choose we shall not speak of such matters again... your body excites me in ways which I had thought long forgotten, and I should very much like the opportunity to give and take such pleasure many times over. But you may choose otherwise…" He hushed Luke with a gesture. "Wait until I have finished. Then you may take such time as you need to decide what you want."

He paused, then continued "If you had not been stolen from me long ago, then I would perhaps have felt bound by ordinary considerations of morality and would view your body more innocently than I do. But the fact remains we have met as adults and not been constrained by the truth of your identity. I know now that you do not yet understand, that Kenobi lied to you and left you in ignorance of who you are. Identity is more than name, it requires connection to others to put it into context. Without context, the fact that you are the son of Anakin Skywalker means nothing to you."

He paused again, then spoke directly into Luke's mind.

_'I will not say this openly, even within the security of my own quarters. Before I became a Sith I was a Jedi named Anakin Skywalker. You are my son, though I had thought you dead with your mother before you had ever drawn breath. If you choose, I will be a father to you and not a lover. You can take your place at my side, as my son and heir, openly in court, and the beginnings of our relationship will be buried deep in our memories and never spoken of again, if that is what you wish.'_

 

In his father's arms, on his father's lap, and stretched obscenely wide around his father's cock, Luke Skywalker gave himself completely and irrevocably to the Dark Side. Openly he would be Vader's apprentice, privately his lover, and, known only to the deepest parts of their hearts and minds, his son. Luke moaned and pressed his cheek more tightly against the thick fabric that covered a strong muscular shoulder, and flexed his thigh muscles, revelling in the sensation as the hot thick length slid in and out of his most intimate flesh, and at the echoing sensation that came through their bond. He smiled inwardly at the knowledge that his father wanted him, wanted to fill and possess him and never let him go. He released the few remaining barriers in his mind, opening his thoughts as widely as he had already opened his body, eager for everything that his father would give him, an empty vessel to be filled to overflowing at Vader's whim. He was truly Vader's now. He wrapped his arms tightly around the solid chest and nuzzled into the clothing that still covered all but one section of his father's body, bringing them both to ecstasy in a slow sensuous rhythm. Tomorrow he would be Vader's apprentice, for now he was his lover, and always deep in his heart he would be his son and his prisoner. It was all he could ever wish to be.


End file.
